Charlotte pulled the comforter up to her chin when she sat back against the headboard, her lips pressed into a thin line and twitching. Her silence spoke volumes.
Mark kept cracking his knuckles, unable to sit still. “I… I had to stay for the sake of my family.”
Charlotte squeezed her hands on the bedding and for the first time looked at Mark without fear. “Well good. What were we thinking in the first place? We would have never worked out in the real world. Not here. Not with my family. Not with me pregnant. It would have been a disaster. I was young, and scared, and stupid enough to think you were there for me. That’s all it was.”
Mark ran his fingers through his hair, her accusation stabbing into him and draining all of the latent joy left behind by his evening with Griffith. “I got you home.”
Charlotte pushed his shoulder as hard as she could with her frail arm. “You coerced me into having sex with you and got me pregnant!”
“I… I didn’t coerce you. You liked me.” Mark looked back at her. He would never intentionally hurt her, no matter how many insults she hurled his way.
She blinked, and her face tensed as if she’d just been slapped. “You were making moves on me and told me you can get me out of there! Yes, you were handsome, but if we’d just met anywhere else, there wouldn’t have ever been a we.”
That hurt so much Mark had to physically move farther away from her. “Why not? Something wrong with me?” He clenched his fists in frustration.
“Where do I even start?” she asked through clenched teeth, pushing away her tangled blonde locks. “You are a criminal. I saw you kill three gangsters with my own eyes. You lied to me!”
“I got rid of them to protect—”
“‘Got rid of them’? You murdered them. There was blood everywhere. Some nights I can still smell it. And I could never ever tell anyone about it. Not my mum and dad, not my boyfriend, not my brother, not even my therapist.”
Mark chewed on his lip. “Why’d you keep the baby then?”
Charlotte looked away and crossed her arms on her chest. “I don’t know. But Allen’s sweet, and lovely, and he is going to be a good boy who doesn’t get involved in the kind of thing you are knee-deep in.”
“I’m here because things… have changed back home. I’m trying to do something else. I can see you don’t want to reconnect, but now that I know about Allen, and I can’t just leave it be.” Mark’s heart beat fast, but he didn’t know if it was fear, or something else altogether that spurred it on. The contempt in Charlotte’s eyes was making him sick.
She scowled. “Is that why you’re harassing my little brother? He’s too naive to see what kind of person you really are.”
Why did she have to chip at his confidence like this? He wasn’t scum. He’d made something of himself. “What kind of person am I, huh? I’m the kind of person who risked their life for you!” He had to take a deep breath to release some tension, because they couldn’t start shouting at this time of night.
Charlotte hummed, way more confident in her insults—verbal or otherwise—than at the start of this conversation. “You’re also the kind of person who thinks that it’s all fine now, and that he can move on and change his hobbies from killing people to photography. My brother deserves to have friends who are on his level, not some dangerous nobody from nowhere.”
She was heaving by the time she finished her tirade, and Mark couldn’t look into her eyes anymore, getting up from the bed to distance himself further. He could no longer get his thoughts straight, so he focused on the one thing he came here for to avoid the topic that hurt him so much it felt like having needles pressed into his eyelids.
“I want to get to know Allen.”
Charlotte swallowed and pondered it for a few seconds. “Do you really think that’s what’s best for him? Doesn’t he deserve a chance at a completely normal life, without a father whom he can never truly know?”
“He does, but… I just want to be there, okay? Maybe not all the time, maybe we will need to decide in what capacity, but I can’t just have him think he was abandoned. I’m serious about this.”
“Is this a threat?”
Mark straightened up and finally met her gaze head-on. “Does it need to be? All I want is to see my son sometimes.”
Charlotte flinched and curled her shoulders, as if he’d attempted to punch her. “But you can’t tell him.”
Mark threw his arms up. “Okay. Fine. I can be the friend you sometimes meet up with for playdates. Whatever you need.”
“And I don’t want you spending time with Griff. He deserves so much better.”
Mark’s brain stopped working correctly for a moment, and all it could offer Mark was the memory of Griff’s face in ecstasy, pink lips parted, eyelids fluttering, cheeks stained red.
“Excuse me?”
“That’s my condition. I don’t want you anywhere near my brother. You befriended him to get back at me anyway, so it shouldn’t be an issue,” Charlotte said, pinning Mark with her gaze.
Was Mark even capable of making a good life choice? It was all fucked up. She had a problem with them being friends, since for her Mark was obviously a revolting human being. If she knew they’d become lovers, would she push Mark away even further? Away from his son?
He swallowed, though he had no idea what to do. “Okay.” The moment he said that simple word, it felt as if the ground had opened under his feet and invited him straight to hell.
Charlotte’s shoulders sagged, and she nodded, collecting herself. Clearly, she had no idea what kind of torment she was dragging him through. “Good.“
Was Mark making a mature decision—a hard one, to put his child first—or was he about to cause havoc in the heart of the sweet boy he’d fallen for? Would Griff hate him for eternity the way Charlotte did? Or was Mark running from his one chance at love? From the breath of fresh air in his stale life filled with the stench of blood wherever he went? Did he secretly assume he wasn’t worth Griffith anyway? Maybe Charlotte was right about that all along.
“Can I see him?” Mark managed only a whisper.
“Fine, but you will leave tonight.” Charlotte slid out of bed on the other side and stood up, dressed in simple cotton pajamas, which she soon covered with a japanesque silk robe.
She led him out into the corridor, but kept eyeing him like a hawk, as if she expected him to strike her at any moment. “Stay quiet.”
All he could do at this point was nod, because he was getting choked up, and after what she’d said to him, Mark didn’t want her to see his vulnerability. If she wanted to see an unreformable thug, that was what she would get.
Allen’s room was across from Charlotte’s, and when they entered, Mark was faced with the most perfect of child rooms and a far cry from his own corner in his biological parents’ home. Everything was pretty, and even in the dark he could recognize the calming nature of the colors. Balloons filled with tiny plush toys hung from the ceiling, and little Allen himself slept calmly, tucked in between fluffy pillows.
Mark’s feet guided him on their own accord and he kneeled by the white crib, unable to believe that he’d helped bring this little person to life. His heart beat so fast he was paranoid that Charlotte could somehow hear it and mock him for it.
She stood by the door and watched his every move as if he were to hurt the child, but all he could do was stare in awe. Just like Angelica, Allen would have everything he needed growing up. He wouldn’t have to suffer a father who beat him, or a mother who couldn’t care less if he had shoes as long as she had money for drugs.
Mark didn’t belong here, but he so, so wished to. Even if he were to never be recognized as the father, he needed to watch Allen grow. Time healed many wounds, time changed people, and time had helped him become someone else, so maybe, without getting ahead of himself, one day, he could tell Allen who he really was as long as he stuck around.
Mark bit the inside of his cheek hard when he started tearing up, because his feelings for
Griffith had no right to outweigh his responsibility, and yet they still tore at the core of who he was trying to be. A man who kept his promises. Dependable. Strong.
And yet there was no way he could be that when trapped between Charlotte, Allen, and Griffith.
He was no lion. He was a mouse.
Chapter 19 - Griffith
The sun tickled Griffith awake, but he lay under the warm covers for a while until the haze of sleep was completely gone. Rolling to his back, he stretched his muscles, and only then opened his eyes, glancing at the blue, cloudless sky outside.
He’d had sex last night.
He’d had sex with Mark, and it had been the kind of mind-blowing experience that he used to think only happened in romantic movies. Even now, he could sense the warmth of Mark’s hands on his body, the flexing of his muscles, his cock drilling Griffith’s hole until they both turned into jelly.
He could still kind of feel it in his muscles.
Even though it was Christmas morning, Griffith wasn’t rushing to the Christmas tree, too excited about the only gift he wanted.
He texted Mark some early wishes, but when he got no immediate answer, he eventually rolled out of bed. He immediately noticed that something was out of place, but when he recognized the wrapping paper on the large flat box, he practically squealed with glee. Mark must have sneaked in here at night and left it for him. How long had he stayed? Had he watched Griffith sleep, or petted his hair so gently Griffith didn’t wake up?
Initially, Griffith wanted to grab the wrapped box and take it to Mark’s room, but then it occurred to him that maybe there was a reason to the madness and ripped the wrapping paper. He didn’t even care to read the card that fell to the floor.
His heart skipped a beat when the paper uncovered the logo of an exclusive fashion brand, and in Griffith’s mind, that put everything into place. Mark wanted him to wear whatever the box contained.
He expected a nice jumper, or something of that sort, but at the sight of the dark blue fabric Griffith’s jaw fell, because he immediately knew what it was. His cheeks flared up, and he was torn between greedily accepting the expensive gift and making Mark take it back. Could Mark possibly have so much disposable income, or was this a gift he wanted to impress Griff with despite not really being able to afford it? What if he’d had to put it on a credit card?
But just the thought that Mark remembered what Griffith had liked so much and got it for him had him melting into his carpet.
He should have bought Mark something nicer than the soft merino wool scarf, but how could have Griffith known that Mark would go all out with his gift?
Unfolding the beautifully-crafted garment, he couldn’t help but smile. In the end, he decided that he would wear the coat but leave the label attached—just to be on the safe side. It was the thought that counted, after all. Griffith put the coat over his pajamas and smelled the fresh fabric before rubbing the collar with his chin. Its quality was superb, and he already knew a way to say thank you to Mark.
Sex. It was sex.
After all, he hadn’t gotten a chance to reciprocate the blowjob last night.
He still couldn’t get over the fact that they’d broken into the gate house. Since Mark entered Griffith’s life, nothing was usual or boring.
He picked up the card to see if Mark had gone for something classy, cheesy, funny, or naughty. You could tell a lot about a person from their choice of Christmas card.
Griff wouldn’t have pinned Mark for a traditionalist, but smiled when an illustration of a robin on a holly emerged from the envelope. So sweet. Inside, the note was slightly longer than your usual holiday wishes, so Griff sat down, biting his lip.
Griffith, you must be the sweetest person I’ve ever met. You will probably hate me forever, but I had to leave. I’m so, so sorry, and I know that I’ll never be able to make it up to you. Last night was amazing, and I will always cherish it in my heart. Some things just aren’t meant to be. We’re in very different places in our lives, come from different backgrounds. Let’s take some time apart to reevaluate if we’re really the best fit.
Please don’t think that this is in any way your fault.
XXX
Mark
Griff would have heard a match dropping on the other side of the house, because even his heart stood still, and the inside of his chest transformed into a black hole, sucking him in bit by bit. At first, he’d thought it was all a mistake, or that he’d somehow misunderstood the message, but it was there in black ink on pristinely white paper. Mark’s words were loud and painfully clear even when Griff’s hand shook too much for him to read them again.
Struggling to breathe, Griffith burst out of his room and ran straight to the guest room occupied by Mark. Inside, the bed was made, and no luggage was to be seen. Mark wasn’t there.
He stood in the open doorway, in the bright sun streaming through the window, in his new expensive coat and his skin smelling of last night. The soft sounds coming from downstairs were so normal, so homely he felt like a traitor to this atmosphere. The normalcy of a Christmas Day morning was pushing him away into isolating silence as he rushed back to his room with a thud in his head.
“No... this can’t be,” he whispered, grabbing the fallen card again.
None of the letters had changed, and the message was still the same. He was no longer wanted. Regardless of Mark’s claims, Griffith must have done something stupid last night, something embarrassing or disgusting, and he didn’t even know what it was, but it scared Mark off.
His heart was beating so rapidly he had to sit down before he became too lightheaded.
He closed his fingers on his mobile and chose Mark’s number, pulling the card to his chest as the heavy, thick nothingness settled on his shoulders and threatened to engulf him whole.
Mark wasn’t picking up. All Griff got was: “This is Mark, leave a message.”
The first few times, Griffith hung up, but when he heard Mark’s voice again, so soothing and lovely even in the awkward recording done for the voicemail, he fought through the tightness in his throat and spoke.
“Why did you leave? You could have just talked to me. You were meant to be here for Christmas. My parents will ask questions.” He took a deep breath when his chest tightened. “There must be a reason. You came into my room last night, so why didn’t you just wake me up? Don’t say I didn’t do anything when I must have. This is so strange. Who does this? I—”
The time meant for a single voice message was over, and he stiffened, halfway through the sentence that wouldn’t change anything anyway, because Mark was already gone.
He sent a text. And then another. And another, each painfully similar, but he didn’t know how else to act in this situation. It was as if he’d suddenly landed on another planet where he didn’t understand social codes.
Mark had always been the kind of guy who talked straight and tackled every issue head-on. It wasn’t like him to ghost Griffith and leave after being so genuine with him last night. If he felt there was no future for them, why had he bared himself for Griff? Why had he shown him the scars he kept hidden from everyone else?
Griff’s head was pounding harder by the second.
Someone knocked on his open door, and when his mum smiled at him, peeking inside, it was as if she’d come from a different dimension. How could she just stand there with such a pleasant expression on her face when Griff’s life was falling apart?
“Ready for presents, sweetie?”
No. He was not ready. He just wanted to be alone.
Griffith tried to open his mouth and say something inconspicuous, like ‘I’ll be right there, Mum’, but if he voiced a single syllable, the depressing pressure inside him would take over, so he shrugged.
Instead of making her way downstairs, Mum walked in, already dressed up in her beige turtleneck and pearls. “That’s why I’ve been putting off this conversation until we could talk face to face. You seem so distant lately. I don’t mean just because yo
u’re all the way in Bristol. Just in general. Is school going well?”
Griffith nodded, pulling the coat close around him. If he returned to Bristol fast, he and Mark could talk in person, but he didn’t want to leave his family on Christmas Day either. He was trapped here.
“Are you cold, Griffith?” She stood over him as if any of this bullshit mattered right now. Did she not see he was dying?
He shook his head, cleared his throat, and finally spoke. His voice sounded as if he’d been drinking and screaming all night. “I’ll join you downstairs, alright?”
Her pleasant smile dimmed somewhat. “No, I need to talk to you, Griffith. Mother to son. You’ve been acting strange since you moved out of here. It’s not alcohol or drugs, is it? I know peer pressure can be very stressful in a new place.”
Griffith hugged himself in the coat, hardly able to breathe at this point. “No... Mum, not now, okay? I’ll see you downstairs.”
For a moment she looked unsure of what she was supposed to say but then gave a deep sigh. “Fine, but we need to talk about this later,” she said and left quickly, as if seeing him like this caused her anxiety.
The moment the door closed behind her, the walls Griffith had built to prevent himself from crumbling fell apart, and he covered his face, ashamed even in front of himself that he had so little self-control. Tears rolled down his cheeks as he gasped for breath against the tightness growing inside him and spreading like a parasite.
Why was this happening to him? He’d taken all the precautions. Got to know Mark. They’d spent so much time together. From all the outings to their favorite café, to the time they binge-watched Stranger Things, there wasn’t a moment that hadn’t felt genuine. Mark couldn’t have possibly been only after sex. It would have been ridiculous. He wouldn’t have spent so much time getting into Griff’s pants just to then disappear. Was one time having sex with Griffith enough to sate him?
A Breath of Innocence Page 25
